


Certain Privileges

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Markiplier - RPF
Genre: M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Pet Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 07:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16572170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Being Darkiplier's oldest friend, Wilford has certain privileges not granted to anyone else.





	Certain Privileges

Wilford Warstache was crazy.

You could talk about how some of it was due to trauma, some of it was due to the fact that he wasn't entirely human anymore and didn't inhabit time the way that most people did.

Darkiplier counted himself as a "people," more or less.

He wasn't people the way that some people were people, but he was still a person.

More or less.

He was more of a person than other people, as far as he was concerned, although he knew that wasn't exactly a... _popular_ view, as far as those things went.

Looking at Wilford was complicated, complicated the way a lot of things weren't anymore, because... well.

History is history, even if you're not entirely human.

Which meant that Dark was a lot more inclined towards indulging Wilford's random... asides than anyone else's. 

So, when Wilford came shambling over, the familiar mad light in the back of his eyes, Dark didn't snap at him, didn't tell him to go away, didn't try to do anything particularly intimidating.

He just sat there in his chair, as Wilford ambled over, his madness all around him like the stink of a fever.

Something about not inhabiting the current time stream tended to do that to people, didn't it?

Dark wouldn't know - he didn't travel through time the way that Wilford did, he just kind of... existed in multiple points at once.

Sort of.

But he kept sitting, as Wilford wandered around the room with a faintly vague expression. 

Dark ostensibly read his book, but (and he'd never admit this), it could be hard to concentrate when Wilford was stalking around. Something about how, even if you knew where a predator was, _even_ if you knew that you were a bigger, stronger predator.

Dark knew that, in theory, he could beat Wilford, if he had to.

He'd rather not, obviously, for a whole variety of reasons, but, well.

Well.

He licked his lips, leaning back into his chair, and he finally gave of the pretense when Wilford was standing in front of him, looking down at him with those wild eyes of his.

"Hello, old friend," said Wilford, and he smiled at Dark with a few too many teeth.

Dark smiled back, and he was aware that to some species, smiling was more like baring your teeth.

Well, Wilford could tell the difference, couldn't he?

"Hello," said Dark. "Can I help you?"

Another smile, a wider one this time, and Wilford actually twitched his mustache, the way he always did when he was thinking. 

"I don't know," Wilford said. "Do you think you can?"

"I don't know what kind of help you're after," said Dark, because it helped to be honest with Wilford, even if you weren't exactly the _shape_ of honest that one would expect.

"I'm looking for some... companionship," said Wilford.

There was enough of a significant pause that Dark raised an eyebrow.

"What kind of companionship, exactly?"

"The friendly kind," said Wilford. "The... _loyal_ kind."

"Loyal?"

Dark wasn't sure what to do with that.

"Oh yes," said Wilford, and then he was sitting on the arm of the chair, draping his legs over into Dark's lap, his feet dangling off of the other side of the armchair.

It looked like a precarious position, but Wilford was always seemingly the most comfortable when he was just on the edge of falling over.

There was probably some kind of metaphor involved in that, or maybe a particularly belabored bit of symbolism.

"So what kind of loyalty are you looking for, exactly?"

Dark knew, intellectually, that he probably shouldn't have been engaging with Wilford, but, well....

The bonds of friendship are deep, especially old friendship; the bonds of marriage, even former marriage, are similarly so.

Especially when one of you is technically two different people and also dead, and one of you blames themselves.

So instead of pushing Wilford away and telling him to find his loyalty elsewhere, Darkiplier just looked up at his mad friend, one eyebrow up.

"Well," said Wilford, and then he was reaching down, pulling the book out of Dark's lap and dropping it on the floor, then _straddling_ Dark's lap, his hands on Dark's shoulders.

Dark made a face - he had been reading that. 

He was going to have to look for his place now.

But he put his hands on Wilford's hips, and he squeezed, gently.

"Can I help you?"

Dark's voice was calm, almost friendly - as close to friendly as he could make it.

He knew he was scary - some of it was even on purpose.

"Well, you can certainly do things for me," said Wilford, and he made eye contact with Dark.

Dark's heart caught in his throat, and he licked his lips, then leaned forward and kissed Wilford, because he could read a room enough to know that this was expected, that this was a thing that was probably going to happen.

He could have pushed Wilford off of his lap, if he really didn't want to - he could get up and walk away, could vanish into another dimension altogether and just become one with the void, the way he was so often tempted to do.

But no.

He was going to stay here, and he was going to kiss Wilford, because that was a thing that he wanted, a thing that was _needed_.

Wilford pulled back, his forehead pressed against Dark's, nose to nose, breathing each other's breath.

Wilford's mustache was ticklish against Dark's lower lip, and Wilford's heart was beating in his chest - they were pressed close enough together that Dark could feel it.

Or maybe that was another one of those cases of Dark being particularly... gifted in ways that most other people weren't, and that was just a thing that was happening.

Maybe he was thinking about this too hard, as he was kissed, Wilford's tongue in his mouth, Wilford's hands in his hair.

Wilford's mouth tasted like itself; a tiny bit like the Colonel, from all those years ago, with that same sweet, stinking madness.

It was almost enough to make him sick, except he couldn't be sick, he _wouldn't_ be sick.

He'd stay here, kissing Wilford, as Wilford moaned against his lips, squirming in his lap.

It wasn't the first time the two of them had been some flavor of intimate - wasn't even the first time they'd been intimate in this very chair.

And yet.

Each time felt special, each time felt _different_ \- was that the way of having a lover, regardless of circumstances? Or was that something special for them, specifically, as strange not-quite-humans?

"I can taste your thoughts," Wilford said, right up against Dark's lips.

"Can you?"

Dark pulled back, and he was breathing heavily, just a little.

"Oh yes," said Wilford. "They're shaped like little metal ball bearings, and they click across my tongue."

Dark raised an eyebrow.

That... didn't entirely sound like something that Wilford would say.

Although then again, Dark wasn't always entirely sure _what_ Wilford was going to say.

"You're overthinking things again," Wilford said, and he tapped Dark on the temple. "You should be loyal to me, you know."

"Should I, now?"

"Oh yes."

"Any particular reason?"

"A whole bunch of 'em," said Wilford, and there was a moment of clarity in his eyes that made Dark's heart catch in his throat.

Dark licked his lips.

"Well," he said, "circumstances are not entirely my fault, you know."

"They're not," said Wilford, in a voice that he probably thought was reassuring. "Don't worry about that."

"So first you're telling me that I'm responsible and that I should be loyal, then you're telling me not to worry about it?"

Dark gave Wilford a Look.

"I can't control your thoughts, try as I might," said Wilford, "more's the pity. But I know that if I suggest something, you'll at least take it into consideration."

"I do take your thoughts into a consideration," agreed Dark. "You are, after all, an old friend."

"I'm one of your oldest friends," agreed Wilford. "Does that not afford me certain privileges?" 

"Well, it depends what you count as a privilege," said Dark. 

"I can kiss you or fuck you or beat you, providing you're in a receiving sort of mood," said Wilford. 

Dark nodded, because he couldn't really argue with that.

"I can, in turn, ask to be kissed or beaten or fucked, if you're so inclined."

"That is true."

"But I was thinking something a bit... more than that."

"What kind of more than that, exactly?"

"I was thinking something more... loyal."

"There goes that word again - loyal. What does loyal mean to you, in this context?"

The whole "context" thing could be very important with Wilford. 

The guy took certain things... very literally. 

Very seriously, in ways that even Dark couldn't understand.

"In this context, it means that I get to fuck you or suck you or hurt you as I want, for as much as I'd like, until you can't take it anymore," said Wilford, with a degree of bluntness that Dark frankly wasn't used to. "It also means that you'll do what I tell you, provided you are able."

"I'm not killing anyone," Dark said, because that caused problems of one form or another.

He did not, specifically, say, "I will not let anyone die" or "I will not drive someone to kill themselves," because those were things he could and would do, if he had to.

But killing someone directly, with his own hands, with a gun or with a knife or something similar... that, he would not do.

A man (or at least, a man shaped thing) had to have his principles, right?

“So,” said Wilford, “what about the rest of it?”

“Well,” said Dark, “as I said, it depends on what the rest of it is.”

And then Wilford was grabbing Dark’s tie, pulling it tight enough that it was almost uncomfortable, and he was pressing his forehead right up against Dark’s.

“It’s what I say it is,” said Wilford. “What do _you_ say, buddy?”

Dark took an internal survey.

What did he want, right in this moment?

He wouldn’t say no to some sex - _definitely_ wouldn’t say no to some interesting sex.

Things with Wilford, while faintly terrifying in their own, special way, were usually interesting. 

“Alright,” said Dark, “let’s do it.”

Wilford smiled that wide, wide smile of his, the smile that always reminded Dark of something that hid in the grass. 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he told Dark.

And then he did… something, and they were elsewhere.

* * *

Dark wasn’t entirely sure where this “elsewhere” was - he and Wilford could both travel between places, in a rather complicated way, although in totally different ways.

Something about Wilford’s ability to travel along his own timeline did something to warp space around him as well, but that was a level of complicated that honestly gave Dark headaches.

He didn’t need to know all of the nitty gritty details to know that stuff happened.

Stuff was always happening, in one way or another.

That was a good motto for life in general, come to think of it.

Dark’s heart was beating very loudly in his ears, come to think of it.

He licked his lips - he was sitting on Wilford’s bed now, in Wilford’s room, and it more or less was a bedroom.

It was bedroom shaped, and it might have been unsettling for someone who was more or less human, but Dark had passed that a while ago, hadn’t he?

… sort of.

But Dark sat on a bed, and Wilford paced in front of Dark, rubbing his hands together, his feet clomping on the floor.

Wilford was wearing boots - big, stompy boots, the kind of big stompy boots that were usually associated with people going into war, or maybe trying to be especially edgy.

“You’ll be my pet,” said Wilford, in the excited voice of a kid at Christmas. “Aren’t you excited?”

Dark raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything else.

Then Wilford stepped in front of Dark, and he looked down into Dark’s face, his eyes wide, his grin wider.

“If you’re a good pet, I won’t put a muzzle on you,” he said, and then he cackled, one hand going to the top of Dark’s head.

Dark shivered, and then he sighed, as Wilford’s fingers began to comb through his hair.

“I don’t need to be muzzled,” Dark said, trying to keep his tone even.

Wilford was tugging his hair, with just enough force to make his eyes want to roll back in his head.

God, but that felt good.

Sometimes, he forgot just how sensitive to touch he was.

He forgot just how skin hungry he was.

Wilford cupped Dark’s cheek, his thumb against Dark’s cheekbone, his index finger in the sweet indentation behind Dark’s earlobe, the rest of his fingers sprawled out across the side of Dark’s neck.

“You’ve got quite a bite on you,” Wilford countered. “Not as bad as your bark, though.”

And then he was grinning wider - he looked like a shark, or maybe someone who’d had their mouth cut open. 

A Glasgow grin - that was what that was called, wasn’t it?

A shiver tried to creep its way up Dark’s spine, but Dark forced it back down, because this wasn’t the time or the place for that kind of thing.

“My bark, hm?”

“I’ve seen what you can do with that lovely voice of yours,” said Wilford, and he was leaning forward again, loosening Dark’s tie, pulling it out of the collar of Dark’s shirt, then shoving Dark’s suit jacket down and off of Dark’s arms.

“You make me sound like some kind of siren, luring sailors to their deaths,” said Dark.

“No,” said Wilford, and now he was starting to unbutton Dark’s shirt, his fingers sliding along Dark’s bare chest.

Dark shivered in spite of himself, his skin breaking out in goosebumps.

“Just no? No more rebuttal than that?”

“I don’t need to justify myself to a pet,” said Wilford, and now his tone was almost annoyed.

“A thousand pardons,” Dark said in his most florid, and he gave Wilford a look that could have been apologetic, if you tilted your head and squinted. 

Wilford snorted, and he crouched in front of Dark, shoving Dark’s legs open, then unbuttoning Dark’s pants.

Ah.

So this was one of those situations.

Wilford wanted Dark to be passive.

Dark could do that - sort of.

He wasn’t very good at it, but you sometimes had to do things for the ones you cared about, didn’t you?

Did he care about Wilford, when it came down to it?

… sort of.

Inasmuch as he could care about anyone, Wilford was probably the person he cared the most about.

But now Wilford was… on his knees, his hands on Dark’s thighs, and then his hand was going _into_ Dark’s pants, and he was fishing Dark’s cock out, squeezing it.

“Not even hard for me?”

Wilford looked up at Dark through his eyelashes, and he looked faintly put out.

“I’m not as young as I used to be,” said Dark, which was true, and also there were certain things that were the kind of complicated that you didn’t want to go into. 

“No, you’re not,” Wilford agreed.

Dark’s cock was already beginning to get hard in Wilford’s hand.

Then Wilford was leaning forward, opening his mouth, and he was taking the head of Dark’s cock into his mouth, sucking on it hard enough that it was borderline painful. 

That was what it was like, to be intimate with Wilford - there was always that little bit of pain, mixed in with the pleasure, and it was enough to make Dark shudder, his cock beginning to swell some more, almost to twitch.

Wilford’s hands were on Dark’s inner thighs now, forcing them open, and his skin was hot to the touch, even through the fabric of Dark’s pants.

Wilford’s mouth was silky, hot and wet, and it was _so_ good around Dark’s cock.

Dark tried to roll his hips forward, found himself stuck - he couldn’t, not with Wilford holding him in place like that.

Wilford was taking Dark all the way into his mouth, down his throat, and then that ridiculous mustache was pressed right up against Dark’s groin, and it should have been uncomfortable and ticklish, but somehow it _wasn’t_ , it was enough to make Dark shudder.

He was on his way to being overstimulated already, and that didn’t make sense, he had barely done anything, but he was shaking, his toes curling, his body tensing up like a spring.

He wanted to tell Wilford something, like, _you’re so good at this, even now_ or _I remember when we used to do this when we were in school together_ , but none of that would come out.

He kept his mouth closed, and he let the pleasure wash over him - if Wilford was in the mood to be generous, Dark would accept the generosity, regardless of the motivations behind it.

His mouth fell open, and he let himself lean back, as the heat at the base of his gut began to build, the tightening inside of him going tighter and tighter.

And then Wilford pulled off of him.

“There we go,” Wilford said, and he was smiling at Dark.

Dark thought about arguing, thought about complaining, thought about doing a whole bunch of things.

None of them would get Wilford to keep sucking him.

So he licked his lips, and he smiled at Wilford, aware that it was a wan smile, unsure how to do better.

“You’re going to be a good pet for me,” said Wilford, “and you’re going to get off the bed. You’re going to lie on the rug.”

Dark bit back a response - he didn’t know if it would be a respectful one or a snarky one, since they both seemed to be fighting to come out.

It seemed like Wilford didn’t want _any_ response right now, which… well, fair enough.

Wilford wanted a pet?

He’d get a pet.

So Dark slid down off of the bed, and he lay on his back, his legs splayed open, his wet, hard cock pressed against his belly.

It was already beginning to leak pre-come, dripping down the shaft, puddling on his bare belly.

The heat of his own cock surprised him sometimes - his whole body was cold, for the most part, due to a whole variety of reasons, but any spot of his that was particularly flushed with blood tended to be hotter.

It was just a shock, every time.

“Look at you like that,” Wilford said, and Dark was particularly… debauched, like this, with his legs open, his shirt undone, his pants unzipped.

Dark didn’t say anything, just looked at Wilford with his deep, dark eyes.

If Wilford had been _specific_ about what kind of pet he had wanted, this might have been easier, but it was never that simple, was it?

So he squirmed on the floor, the rug warm and soft under his back, and he kept his mouth shut.

Would Wilford insist on his nudity? 

Would Wilford put a collar on him, a leash?

“You’re a very good boy,” Wilford said instead, in a serious tone.

Dark blinked.

That was… unexpected.

He bit back any response - _I do my best,_ or possibly _are you kidding_? - and instead just kept up the eye contact. 

“You’re a very good boy in there,” said Wilford, and that was just this side of uncomfortable. 

There were things that just weren’t talked about. 

Dark just raised an eyebrow - he made a surprised noise, when Wilford’s thumb was shoved into his mouth, and he sucked in it obediently. 

“Use that lovely mouth of yours, just like you love to do it,” said Wilford, and he was stroking the pad of his index finger between Dark’s eyebrows, his touch surprisingly delicate.

Dark obediently hollowed his cheeks out, flickering the tip of his tongue along the edge of Wilford’s nail, and he sucked it. 

“Good boy,” said Wilford, and then he was withdrawing his thumb, absently wiping it on his own pants. “Now….”

_Now, what?_

Dark wanted to say something, but… well.

There was a time and a place for that kind of sass - almost anyone else couldn’t expect any kind of civility from Dark, but Wilford… Wilford had some privileges. 

They came from time, they came from pity, they came from something like guilt, although Dark wasn’t always sure where the guilt came from.

There were two different parts of him, and they were… well, they were complicated.

It was all too fucking complicated, and he sighed, as Wilford’s hand went to his hair.

“You’re going to be a good boy and let me suck your cock,” said Wilford. “You’re going to be a good boy and take all the pleasure that I can give you, and you’re going to take it all, because I want you to take it.”

Dark shivered, and he licked his lips, but he nodded. 

“Good boy,” Dark said in a soothing tone of voice, and then he was getting down on the floor, moving down to the floor, his hands on Dark’s inner thighs, his breath ghosting over Dark’s dick. 

Dark arched into it, his cock bobbing wetly against his belly, and he took a shuddering breath.

Wilford was good with his mouth - Wilford could be described as _sinfully_ good with his mouth, if they weren’t both far beyond that. 

“Now,” said Wilford, and his breath was still ticklish, making Dark’s toes curl, his eyes roll back in his head. “Now. Let’s reward my good boy, for being so cooperative.”

Wilford’s mouth was around Dark’s cock.

One minute, Wilford was breathing on it, tantalizing little bits of breath, and the next, he was full on engulfing Dark’s cock in his mouth.

Dark would have been somewhat unsettled, if he had it in him to care right now, because Wilford’s teeth were maybe a little sharper than Dark remembered them being, and they were scraping across the delicate skin of Dark’s skin, and then they were digging in, just enough that they were almost painful, except Wilford was pressing his whole face forward, his nose against Dark’s groin, his throat opening like a dream to take Dark’s cock.

Dark shuddered, and he keened up to the ceiling, his hips rolling forward, his cock twitching in Wilford’s mouth.

Wilford made some kind of pleased noise, bobbing his head, and he began to bob his head, sucking harder, doing some kind of tricky something or other with the tip of his tongue, and that was making Dark squirm, his hips jerking forward, panting loudly, practically _begging_ , although he was too proud to beg. 

… at least, he was now.

Too much of this, and he might lose that pride.

But Wilford was holding on to Dark’s hips, keeping them in place, and Dark was still groaning and moaning, his heels digging into the floor, his hips rolling up further, to get himself deeper inside of Wilford.

Wilford swallowed around Dark’s cock, and Dark sobbed like his heart was breaking. 

“Mmm,” Wilford murmured, and then there was a wet sound, as he did… something, Dark didn’t know what, except that Wilford’s throat was doing _things_ to the tip of Dark’s dick, squeezing it, and Wilford’s tongue was tracing along the base of Dark’s dick, which was… fuck, that was almost too much, and Dark was biting his lip to keep from swearing, his hands in his own hair, pressing down on his face.

His orgasm was building and building, deep and low in his gut, high in the back of his head, throbbing in time with his heart, painful and so, so sweet.

He wanted to hold on to this; he didn’t want to come so quickly, he didn’t want it to be over yet, he wanted to keep wallowing in this pleasure like that was a thing that was done, wanted to keep feeling as good as possible, until he was so drunk on it that he couldn’t move.

But his body had other plans, and Wilford, the bastard, knew all of its tricks.

Wilford did… something, and maybe it was related to his new inhuman status, but whatever it was, it was making Dark seize up, his orgasm hitting him like a brick to the back of the head.

It was a bit like blunt force trauma - it felt like something was breaking in his belly, something brittle, and then the sweet pleasure washed over him like a wave of acid, eating him alive, melting him down to his very components, then building him back up again.

He lay there on the floor, panting, his legs still shaking, his toes still curled, and he groaned, licking his lips.

“Wil,” he said, and his voice cracked.

Wilford came off of his cock, slowly and carefully, and he frowned, licking his swollen, wet lips.

“Pets don’t talk,” Wilford said, and he gave Dark a little smack on the thigh.

Dark closed his mouth, although he did arch one eyebrow. 

“Such a good boy,” Wilford said, and he was rubbing Dark’s belly.

Dark endured it, because there were certain things that he’d put up with from Wilford that he wouldn’t put up with from anyone else .

Wilford kissed Dark’s belly, then began to kiss lower, nuzzling into Dark’s cock, which was already starting to go soft.

_I can’t get it up again that fast,_ Dark thought, and he looked at Wilford.

Wilford… just wrapped his mouth around Dark’s cock again, beginning to suck a little harder.

Dark was still soft, although the stimulation was beginning to get him harder - not much harder, but enough, and he was starting to leak a bit of pre-come, right onto Wilford’s tongue.

Wilford made a pleased noise, and he was swallowed Dark down again. 

Dark’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his heels dug into the floor.

Oh god.

He might actually die.

... it’d be fucking worth it.

* * *

It was some time later.

How much time?

Who the fuck knew.

Wilford’s fingers were buried inside of Dark, and Dark was naked, his legs spread wide, his head thrown back.

He was bathed in sweat, panting up at the ceiling, and he was clenching around Wilford, his hips jerking forward.

Wilford was murmuring sweet nothings to Dark, even as he hammered against Dark’s prostate with two fingers.

“Such a good boy for me, such a good boy, who’s my good boy, who’s going to be my good boy, come for me a fourth time. You can do it, can’t you? Yes you can, you’re such a good boy, your cock is flexing against your belly. I’m just going to… mmm….”

And then Wilford’s mouth was back on Dark’s cock, and he was humming something - maybe more praise, who could tell - and he was sucking, his mouth making obscene wet noises, as Dark writhed under him.

Dark was _well_ past overstimulated - his whole body was nothing but a taut nerve ending, his hips jerking forwards. 

Wilford came off of Dark’s cock, as he kept fucking Dark with three fingers, and Dark sobbed, an undignified sound he’d deny until the end of his existence, but it didn’t matter, none of it mattered, all that mattered was the sweet pleasure that was engulfing him like a flood, and then he was arching his back yet again, his feet planted, as another orgasm - _another_ \- began to build.

Wilford came off of Dark’s cock, and he kissed along Dark’s inner thigh, wet, sloppy kisses, and he twisted his fingers. 

Dark sobbed again, and he went completely limp.

His cock twitched against his belly, and it _hurt_ \- he was completely out of come, his balls were empty, and his cock was still trying to spurt it, and it hurt more than it should have.

He gave a broken little sigh, and then he went completely still, as Wilford pulled away from him, patting him on the stomach with his clean(er) hand. 

“There we go,” said Wilford. “Good pet.”

And Dark let him, because Wilford was afforded certain privileges.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic?
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different?
> 
> Come talk to me on my tumblr, theseusinthemaze.tumblr.com!


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